Scream (Work In Progress)
by Calvatron3000
Summary: Inquisitor Gideon Ravenor and his team's investigation into the tainted narcotic known as Scream have led them to the Hive City of Despora in search of it's source. (This is my first attempt at my own fiction so ANY feedback that you can give would be amazing - thanks very much!)


I have found my target. A grox-crap of a clanner who is moments away from being blown off the mortal coil by one of my agents. He is a foot-soldier in a gang of skin-headed vagrants who had taken claim to this hab-block. Just another merciless pack of scum and villainy who specialise in trafficking psychotics and illegal stims. Many of their cooling bodies now litter the sodden corridors of this gargantuan high-rise. I expect that she has taken great pleasure in dispatching them.

I swiftly follow the trail of her handiwork through derelict accommodations and stairwells alike in search of my quarry.

Mega-hab East-6. One of a dozen similar and equally ugly, enormous structures flanking Hive City Despora. 6 to the east and 6 to the west, numbered accordingly. The monolithic structure is in ruins from years of neglect and disrepair, another habitation tower meant to home tens of thousands throughout its 112 floors, abandoned in the relentless expansion of the Hive, left wanting for basic upkeep and arbites enforcement. A lawless haven for the criminal underworld.

From the outside East-6 appears to resemble a giant grey molar erupting from the mountain in which it and its 11 dopple-gangers are embedded. Broken Antennae, moss caked walk-ways, discarded grav-rail tracks and unusable elevator shafts cling to its outer walls like parasites feasting on a great carcass.

Inside there is an urban labyrinth. Graffiti and clan-tags blight the walls and ceilings; mould has claimed its dominion over much where pipes have burst from lack of maintenance. Rusted Iron shutters block doors and stairwells. Used hypos and the remnants of those unfortunate enough to cross the gang's path fill the gangways and yet some of the cities population still call this home. It is a testament to the resolve of the human spirit.

I concentrate my thoughts, allowing my psychic tendrils to roam from room to room and floor to floor. This forsaken shell is awash with the psychic imprint of despair. The plethora of emotions is almost over-powering. The years of misery, woe, anger and desperation endured by the inhabitants of East-6 have taken it's toll irreversibly.

I home in on the wraithbone necklace that my agent wears, she is on the 92nd floor and heavily outnumbered. I move with all haste.

I reach the lofty heights of the building just in time. She has cut the gang brutes down to just one and it is him who I need. My psyche takes the form of an Eldar Mooneagle as I soar down the narrow corridor in pursuit of him, wings flapping, windows shattering into fragments in my wake and psy-frost forming on their glinting remains. I catch up to him in seconds, merging my consciousness with his in an instant.

We are one.

* * *

><p>He is screaming incoherently like an animal, making noises a human should not be able to make. His fetid limbs are ravaged from infection but he charges with every ounce of strength he can muster to close the distance between them. He needs the kill, the rush. He doesn't know why he needs to spill her blood but he must. There is no other way. Nothing will rob him of this.<p>

She drops to one knee and takes aim at him. She yells a command but he does not listen for he does not care. All that matters is the kill. A deafening bang follows the fireball erupting from her hand cannon as an AP round hurtles down the dilapidated corridor towards him. Her weapon clicks empty. Her shot goes wide and blows out a rusted service-elevator door next to him, showering him in sparks and metal fragments. He does not care for his body has been broken by years of abuse anyway. If he is quick enough he can be on her before she can reload.

She is a pretty thing with jet black hair and intense green eyes. He would gouge them out if he had any fingers left. He is nearly upon her; he can practically taste her soul yearning for him to free it from its fleshy shell. Nothing will stop him. Just a few more steps and -

- He is stopped dead in his tracks by an invisible wall. His body becomes stiff and unyielding like a corpse. He tries to flail his limbs but his body is not his own to command. He goes to scream but his mouth is sealed shut. So close. He is a beast caged within his own body.

His prey fixes him with a murderous smile as she slams a fresh clip into her weapon and presses it to his tattooed head. Before she can pull the trigger he forms a single word from his foaming mouth. 'Embodius,' he says through broken teeth. Her eyes narrow. 'Embodius,' he repeats against his will, its meaning unknown to him.

The voice coming from him is a man's but it is not his own. It is mine.

The woman removes the hand cannon from his forehead and holsters it in her chest rig. She takes a step back and gestures to the carnage around her. The ruined bodies of a dozen clanners litter the ramshackle corridor, the floor slick with their viscera and smoking brass casings. She clicks her neck and takes a deep breath. Her emerald green eyes return to him along with that murderous smile.

'I was wondering when you were going to show up,' says Patience Kys.

* * *

><p>Now that I have his attention I make my presence known.<p>

+ Do you know who we are? + I mind-whisper him, my voice resonating in his head. His psyche is a raging torrent of fury, bloodlust and confusion barely contained in his inked skull. His mind barks at my intrusion like a rabid canine, so intoxicated by the narcotic that he is more animal than man. He is of no use to me in this state. I imbue his mind with _Profound Introspections_, a litany that I recite before meditation to gain my equilibrium. The tempest in his mind begins to relent and a glimpse of the man hidden behind the crazed beast reveals itself.

+ Do you know who we are? + I force the question upon him again. He does not reply but his mind races in blind panic and uncertainty, unable to comprehend my presence. I delve with ease into his thoughts that he is trying so hard to conceal. He thinks I am just another voice in his head induced by the stims that will dissipate with time. He tries to run, to flee me like a cowering fool but I have paralyzed him. I assault his consciousness with a psychic barb causing it to shriek.

+ I assure you that I am very real and you are my prisoner until I deem otherwise, + I tell him. I take control of his abused body and lock his bloodshot eyes with Patience's.

My operative is tall and hauntingly beautiful. She is a skilled combatant and a fellow psyker. Her slender physique is wrapped in a black body glove with a _Hec-9_ hand cannon holstered across her chest. She meets him with a hard stare, her angular features and piercing green eyes giving away nothing.

I make him give her a nod. 'Show him,' I say through his wretched mouth. She grins and taps an encoded key sequence into her wrist-cogitator. A moment later the corridor is illuminated green as a small holographic symbol is projected into the air between the two of us. It is my Seal of Office and it has spelled the doom of untold numbers before him.

The Rosette of the Imperial Inquisition.

I feel his bladder give-way at the sight of the holographic rosette rotating in mid-air before him.

'I love it when that happens,' Patience says with a cruel laugh. There is no denying that its symbolism had the desired effect. + You now know the gravity of the situation you are in, + I state. I feel his mind whimper in response. + My name is Gideon Ravenor. I am an inquisitor of His Holy Inquisition. An agent of His will and of His wrath. You are now my detainee pending interrogation as part of my investigation into the street-psychotic known as Scream. Any attempt to withhold evidence that may aid my investigation will be met with dire consequences. Do you understand? +


End file.
